John, don't worry
by potteratthedisco
Summary: A short Johnlock. Post Reichenbach. Inspired by a photo on facebook


**A/N this is a short Johnlock inspired by a picture I saw on facebook. Post Reichenbach Fall. Thanks for reading.**

He had fell. Not a joke. Not a hoax. Sherlock had fell and Sherlock had died.

The next year had gone as a blur. John couldn't even remember christmas with his newly reformed sister. It was like a dream. He kept seeing Sherlock in random places. He didn't know why he still did. Sherlock was gone, John. Just get over it.

**A/N sorry, switching to first person. For a reason. Easier to write.**

I couldn't believe it, there he was again. I was sat in a pizza bar but I hadn't ate anything. I barely ate anything any more. But there he was, in the window. I could see him out of the corner of my eye. When I turned he was gone. I shook my head and put the memory to the back of my mind. he was dead, John. He was very much dead.

I had an appointment with the physiatrist in half an hour so I made my way out and hailed a cab. What was with me today? I couldn't concentrate and I kept seeing him everywhere.  
"What's the date today?" I asked the cabby.  
"Tuesday 6th January. Why?"  
"It's his birthday."  
"Whose?" This cabby was way too personal. But why not tell him.  
"Sherlock Holmes."  
"I heard he was a fraud." Luckily, they had arrived.  
"Don't you ever tell me that Sherlock Holmes is a fraud or a fake." I didn't tip the cabby but paid the money. It was only after I had entered the building that I noticed the clean cut suit and the perfect hair which was so much like the man who killed Sherlock.

While waiting for his name to be called, I scrolled through his phone, unsure of what to do. He came to 'S' and found the name of his flat mate. Something in his brain clicked and I almost screamed at his stupidity. Sherlock had always said I was an idiot.

On his way out, I said the receptionist, "Sorry, got an emergency." Then ran out. It felt like old times. Running. The cane was left behind once again. I ran all the way to St. Barts and went straight to Molly.

"Has anyone been on the roof since the fall? Other than the police."  
"Hello John, nice to see you. How are you?" Molly stated rather sarcastically. "No, no-one wanted to go up there."  
"Can you get me up there?"  
"Why?"  
"Evidence."  
"I've done this job for too long to ask anymore." With that, Molly lead me up the stairs and onto the roof. There were several hiding spots. I ran around the perimeter, Molly looked worried, but I had to. I found a small nook near where Sherlock had jumped from and looked down. There was the phone of Irene Adler. The only woman Sherlock had seemed to love. On it was a message. It read: 'Don't mess up my socks, John. ~SH'  
Running down the steps, I said goodbye to Molly and thanked her. I ran home, once again. The sock drawer. I hadn't even been in Sherlock's room since the fall. Never mind his sock drawer. There was his own phone and a message. It was a recording. I listened to it.

I heard the distinct voice of Moriarty. '

Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get ya?  
Sherlock: Richard Brook.  
Moriarty: Nobody seems to get the joke. But you do.  
Sherlock: Of course.  
Moriarty: 'Atta boy.  
Sherlock: Rich Brook in German is Reichenbach. The case that made my name.  
Moriarty: Just tryin' to have some fun. _{Holmes starts tapping} _Good. You got that too.  
Sherlock: Beats like digits. Every beat is a one, every rest is a zero. Binary 's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me, hidden inside my head. A few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system.  
Moriarty: Told all my clients. Last one to Sherlock is a sissy.

Moriarty: I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever. Now shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it.  
Sherlock: Do it. Do what? Yes, of course. My suicide.  
Moriarty: "Genius detective proved to be a fraud." I read it in the paper so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairy tales... and pretty grim ones too.

Sherlock: I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity.  
Moriarty: Oh just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort. Go on. For me.

Sherlock: You're insane.  
Moriarty: You're just getting that now? Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't.  
Sherlock: John.  
Moriarty: Not just John. Everyone.

Moriarty: Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims. There's no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump. You can have me arrested, you can torture me. You can do anything you like with me, but nothing's going to prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die. Unless—  
Sherlock: Unless I kill myself and complete your story.  
Moriarty: You gotta admit, that's sexier.  
Sherlock: And I die in disgrace.  
Moriarty: Of course. That's the point of this.

Moriarty: Off you pop. I told you how this ends. Go on. Your death is the only thing that's going to call off the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it.

Moriarty: What?! What is it? What did I miss?  
Sherlock: You're not going to do it. So the killers can be called off then. There's a recall code or a word or a number. I don't have to die if I've got you.  
Moriarty: Oh, you think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?  
Sherlock: Yes. So do you.  
Moriarty: Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to.  
Sherlock: Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell, I shall not disappoint you.  
Moriarty: Nah. You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels.  
Sherlock: Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them.  
Moriarty: No. You're not. I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me. You're me. Thank you. Sherlock Holmes. Thank you. Bless you. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out. Well good luck with that' a gun-shot, then silence.

"That's it. Oh my God. That's it." I said to myself. I got up, phone in hand and got a cab to Scotland Yard.

"Case re-opened, Greg. I found the evidence you were too thick to find."  
"You sound just like Sherlock."  
"He is alive."  
"No, he isn't. We have been over this. He isn't alive, he can't be." I shoved the phone over the table. The recording waiting to be played.

"John." I heard my name. My hands were in fists and I was sweating. I opened my eyes to find a white ceiling in my line of sight. "John, you're awake." Sherlock exclaimed.  
"No. How did I get here? You died. You jumped off St Barts. Why am I in the hospital? I was with Lestrade. I had found the phone."  
"John, what are you talking about? You jumped off St Barts, not me. You were brilliant. You recorded the whole thing and left it for me to find. The only way Moriarty to beat me was to kill you. But you jumped and you managed to survive."  
"No, you died. You jumped. I found the phone. I had lived a year of my life."  
"It has only been a month," he cut me off. "You have been in a coma. I didn't die. I will never leave you. I promise. Everything is going to be alright. Don't worry, John. I'm here.


End file.
